


This side of paradise

by TheOccasionalSquirrel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Lesbian Allura (Voltron), Lesbian Romelle (Voltron), Light Angst, Like, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Allura (Voltron), Pining Romelle (Voltron), Princess Allura (Voltron), Romance, Sendak is the bad guy, allura is arranged to marry someone else, also lesbians are just great, can i tag this for flowery language haha, i wrote this for my friend cause i love her lmao, quarantine is fucking us all up the least i can do is create things and dedicate them to my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOccasionalSquirrel/pseuds/TheOccasionalSquirrel
Summary: I really like the idea of love as a violent act—not to the person that you love, but against the world. To say to somebody, 'I love you; by extension, I hate all other things.’-Hozier
Relationships: Allura/Romelle (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	This side of paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brunettereader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunettereader/gifts).



Romelle looks at the sun and the sun looks back at her, judging her for her thoughts, burning guilt into her skin. She tightens her grip around the parasol and looks away, straight ahead, into the long wavy hair that falls down the Princess’ back. She adjusts her grip once more, this time making sure the parasol still adequately covers the princess’ face- just high enough so she can see—just low enough so the sun doesn’t bother her.

Nothing should ever bother Allura, everything can bother Romelle. Such was the nature of a princess and her lady-in-waiting. The beating sun and leaning parasol and heavy basket digging into her made sure she didn’t forget. 

Clawing at the back of her conscience. She was a lady-in-waiting. Allura was a princess. Romelle was a fairy. Allura was her prey. 

_ ‘No, it isn’t like that,’ _ protested a part of her.  _ ‘It isn’t at all like that.’ _

The picnic basket isn’t heavy, and the parasol is light in her hand, and even the sun’s light is but a gentle caress as she follows her lady. Step by step, they get further away from the castle. Step by step, the tension leaves Allura’s shoulders. They are not free just yet. Nor will they be— unless they go inside the forest—but in the sunny flower meadow that kisses the outskirts of the dark woods, they get as close to freedom as they can get. 

_‘Leave your passing fancies behind you,’_ a dark voice in her echoes. A voice that belongs to the woods. A voice like the night and all the claws and teeth it brings along. And still, parts of her protest and scream. The desire to kiss as big as the desire to kill. Yet her grip remains steady on the parasol, and the basket doesn’t shake, and the sun is just the sun, there when she’s awake.

“Walk beside me, Romelle,” Allura requests, and wordlessly, Romelle follows. Best to speak few words as her thoughts pull her heart apart, lest the truth leak through the tears. Allura links their arms, and Romelle adjusts the parasol so it covers them both. 

Allura sighs. 

“I can’t stand that stuffy castle in summer,” she complains. “Things must be truly bad if they won’t let me travel. Don’t you think, Romelle?” she looks at Romelle expectantly, but the lady-in-waiting is too immersed in her own thoughts to understand what Allura’s gaze means. 

“Our troops fight bravely in our good kingdom’s name. Soon it will be over, and our cities will be safe and the enemy gone,” Romelle answers, but her soul is not in it. Faeries don’t care about human wars at the best of times, and most of her words are comforting spells. Words kings and queens use when they steal people’s sons and husbands and send them off to die. 

Princess Allura of Altea knows as much, which is why she scoffs at Romelle’s answer and rolls her eyes. “Our troops  _ die _ bravely because of the Galra’s warmongering generals. Honestly, Romelle,” the princess stops in her tracks and unlaces their arms. She then cups both of Romelle’s cheeks and forces the lady-in-waiting to look up and focus on her. “Where  _ are _ you?”

“I’m here,” Romelle breathes, but before she can do anything— _ kiss, kill, kiss, kill _ —she is snapped out of it. 

“Well I sure hope you are,” there’s a light smile in Allura’s voice, and Romelle can’t quite discern how much of that was her imagination and how much of it was real. What she knows for sure is that Allura is here, standing next to her, waiting. She gives Romelle’s forearm a light squeeze, reassuring, kind. “Right here Romelle. We may sit here,” Allura says, and hastily Romelle lays down a blanket from the basket she’d been carrying. While the Princess sits down, Romelle takes out a cane from the basket and sticks it into the ground and attaches the parasol to it. Easier than a tent but just as practical. 

“A drink, your highness?” Romelle asks, and tries not to focus too much on the fact that they’re right on the edge of the meadow, tries not to focus on the fact that it would take just a few steps, just a few steps and they’d be in the twilight darkness of a faerie realm. A moment—a breath, a kiss away from danger. Less than a thought away from that dark beast eating away at Romelle’s soul, overpowering her completely. 

“Later, maybe,” the princess shakes her head. “Come here, Romelle, sit next to me,” Allura says, and for one frightening heartbeat, Romelle thinks she’d rather sit next to Allura for a moment than be promised heaven for eternity. No darkness—no primal duty that ties her to a fae court can impede in front of the light in Allura’s eyes, and as her heart begins to beat again she nods and takes a seat next to her princess in the shade. 

To sit next to the person you love, in a meadow, amongst flowers, is it heaven? The soft sunshine, the gentle breeze, the piece of your heart that beats for them, and only for them, so loud, so happy. Is it joy? Is it love? The claws that tear your heart apart when you remember it’s all forbidden. Is it hell? To hold something you know will be torn away from you?

And Romelle tries her best to keep the princess at an arm’s length, but then Allura lays her head in her lap, and there is no space for hesitation from all the affection that blooms in her chest. 

Oh, to stand on a cliff’s edge, with love’s light wings on your back. Paradise within reach if you’re brave enough to take a leap. If you’re sure enough your wings won’t melt and doom you to fall. 

_ ‘It’s something like a spell,’ _ Romelle thinks, running one of her hands through the princess’s hair. In soft moments like these, she can imagine any kind of future she wants. She can imagine golden Allura in the soft blue of a wedding gown, and there is no one to judge her thoughts. Her wishes belong to her and her alone. She  _ is _ a faerie after all, a little bit of selfish magic to conjure up fantasies won’t hurt anyone. A little bit of selfish magic, to make her heart ache and her soul sigh. 

“Romelle?”

_ ‘And then, the spell breaks,’  _

Romelle feels seen under Allura’s gaze. 

Allura’s presence always had a sharp manner about it. The blue of her eyes was piercing, the manner of her movement always deliberate and calculating. Like a finely polished blade, her intelligence was something to be afraid of. 

Romelle wonders how the fae ever thought they stood a chance. 

Fear settles in like a rock thrown at the bottom of the riverbed, and still Romelle stays composed. She knew she’d failed her mission—she was only supposed to manipulate the princess into marrying Sendak. 

Sendak, one of the reigning Galra princes. Sendak, who’d stolen a fae treasure and traded it for the most beautiful bride in the world. 

Romelle knew to hate him. She also knew the second part of her mission—kill the Altean princess before her wedding night. That way, the Fair Folk would have fulfilled their end of the trade, and gotten revenge on the rotten thief.

But then, like a fool, Romelle had fallen in love with the princess.

The same princess who looked at her right now, so bright and sharp and full of life. Beautiful, lovely, deadly—this romance could doom them all. 

Her gaze slowly moves to the forest, and Romelle follows it. The cold blue of the woods called to her, begging her to come home. 

###  ♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

“It’s tempting, isn’t it?” Allura says, the tone of her voice secretive, reserved for Romelle and Romelle only. “To just drag me in there, drown me in the nearby lake and get it over with. Or hang me from a tree and make it look like I did it myself,” Allura settles herself once again in Romelle’s lap, avoiding her lady in waiting’s eyes. Her heart is but a little thing, trapped in a cage. “I admire your self control,” she confesses.  _ ‘And the truth is, I admire so many other things about you,’  _ she doesn’t say. She can’t. She doesn’t dare. Allura has worked too hard to let herself indulge in this impulsiveness. And yet. Her heart is a wild animal her ribcage can’t contain. 

She can feel Romelle’s hesitance. Despite herself, Romelle had never been good at hiding her feelings, and Allura had been too good at sleuthing to not figure out her secrets. Murder was a simple one, love was harder. 

“Some more time, please,” she pleads. Allura only pleaded to Romelle, because heavens knew that, despite their mutual scheming, they trusted one another. “Until the end of summer, and then you may drown me. I know all the paths Fate laid out for me end in an early death—”  _ It’s why I want to follow yours  _ “—I would like to enjoy one last summer. Then you may wed me, bed me, behead me. I don't care,” alas, the problem was that Allura cared a lot. But there was only so much she could do. This June afternoon she would lay her head in her almost-lover’s lap, and tomorrow she would be princess once more.

There would be no more summer afternoons spent on the outskirts of the forest, and there would be no more evenings spent reading books together. She was betrothed, after all. 

The thought made her want to scream—made her want to cry—but she only sighed and closed her eyes. She let Romelle run her shaky hands through her hair, and she let the sun warm her legs.

She let the blue sky turn golden, she let the sun set. And then, later, she let her father announce a peace treaty with the Galran empire, at the cost of his daughter’s hand.

###  ♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

Allura had thought that the summer would somehow feel different now that she was betrothed, but it was still the same. Her dresses were still stuffy and hot, her corsets always a breath too tight to be comfortable, her smile always painted on her face. Her father grew more and more absent, as if he couldn’t bear to look her in the face after what he’d done. She’d never pleaded with him—it was an unspoken agreement that Allura was not cattle to be sold for the King and Queen’s political gain—until she was, and all the bridges that had connected Allura with her parents she’d personally burned.

She was not angry at them, but betrayal was betrayal. It came with consequences. 

It seemed though, that Allura had betrayed Romelle as well. 

Her lady-in-waiting grew more and more distant as the hazy days of summer passed, and with her own responsibilities, Allura never quite found the time to speak with her. That is, until a late July night. Allura could not attend summer activities—most of them were for new loves, and she was already set to be married when summer ended— so it did not seem odd when she disappeared in the late evening.

Disappeared is a strong word, she’d only followed Romelle up the tower stairs and wondered what her lady-in-waiting was doing so late. The atmosphere of the castle at the same time stuffy and cutting. Was there not a war to worry about only a month ago? The courtiers and servants looked at her, they always looked at her. As a saviour, or as a whore. A thousand voices whispering, screaming,  _ ‘What have you done? Do you think it’s that easy?’ _ . However, as she stepped onto the parapets, all of her thoughts escaped at the sight. 

A thousand stars in the sky, and none of them as golden as her Romelle. 

She looked at Romelle, and Romelle looked at the stars, and the stars looked at them back, and Allura’s heart tore itself apart with the desire to fly away and touch one. To take Romelle’s hand and run away from there. To take whatever jewelry they could carry and cut their hairs and pose as pretty stable boys and run, run, run as far as they can.

Before she knew it, she was mere inches away from Romelle. Her rose-colored eyes made violet in the blue night, but her hair was still golden, still gold. She reached out to hold Romelle’s hand, her engagement ring glinting in the starlight.

“You are made of stars and gold and this life is not for you,” Romelle whispers and pulls her hand away, but not quickly enough to hide the flour dusting her knuckles. 

For the sake of peace, Allura ignores it. 

“Is that meant to be an insult, Romelle?” She smiles lightly, because she can’t carry the weight of an argument. 

Romelle, instead, acts as if she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. A remark about the weather and not about Allura’s state of being. “I’ve been preparing a wedding gift for you, your highness,” Romelle says and her mood instantly sours. “I hope you do not take offense to my disappearances,” she curtsies and tries to leave, but Allura rushes to grab her hand first.

Her thoughts instantly fill with golden birds and the scent of pine cones, somewhere far away, somewhere safe, if far away had a scent and safety had a sound. Romelle lets go of Allura’s hand and the spell breaks.

“Patience, your highness,” she says while Allura stares at her in shock. Romelle takes her leave, seemingly taking any color of the night with her, while Allura still stands on that parapet.

The stars fade and the sun rises, and still thoughts of golden birds carry her through her nights and days.

Faeries, courtiers, royals. No one could be trusted in Allura’s world. No one but Romelle.

###  ♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

Just before the harvest moon is when the wedding takes place. And it is only unusual for the fact that Allura’s new husband looks at her with a hunger that makes her wonder whether or not general Sendak has ever eaten in his life.

The wedding is also unusual for the fact that the bride only allows her lady-in-waiting in her dressing chambers. Altean customs state both bride and groom have two outfits—one for the ceremony, and one for the wedding party. 

But instead of the cold white that was chosen for her wedding party dress, Romelle surprises Allura by bringing her a bundle of peasant clothes.

Peasant clothes, and Romelle’s heart, if Allura wants it.

Because, in between the tight lacings of a corset, Romelle had whispered spells and blessings and love confessions—for Allura, only ever for Allura. 

And oh, before Romelle could even say anything Allura had stood up and kissed her. “I trust you, I trust you,” she’d whispered and cried and slipped off her rings and silks and put on the clothes of a pretty stable boy. Romelle matched her wearing clothes fit for a kitchen maid.

Rays of moonlight and other poetic ramblings fall to the floor as Romelle cuts Allura’s hair short, and after they’re finished, a kitchen maid and stable boy exit the princess’ dressing chambers.

While the royals raise a fuss looking for their lost bride, they steal Sendak’s prized stallion and run to the forest, laughing. And they do not seem odd, why would they? Young love is joyful, and a royal wedding is cause for a celebration, is it not?

Romelle takes them to the forest where Allura had exposed her plot. Where once anxiety had seized her every time she looked at the forest, now she seemed at ease. Why should she be afraid? She’d completed her mission, the princess had married the general.

She squeezes Allura’s hand and walks towards where the forest kisses the meadow, where the light ends and the faerie realms begin. 

The forest reaches out to her, welcoming, calming.  _ ‘Welcome home my child,’ _ the forest says, but before it can take her back wholly, she takes Allura’s other hand in hers. 

Golden Allura, who is made of stars and gold and is so much more than just a princess. Beautiful Allura, who’d done her best with the cards she’d been dealt.  _ Her _ Allura, who deserved so much more than a life trapped in castle walls. Allura, who deserved freedom just like any other creature. Allura, who loved Romelle, and who Romelle loved fiercely back.

“Is your last gift to me sunlight?” she smiles, and like this, illuminated in the golden light of the sun’s last rays, Romelle could look at her forever. 

“No,” she smiles back. “My last gift to you is freedom,” she says, and because Allura is the only person Romelle has ever trusted, she pulls her close and lets the transformation take hold.

There was a bright light, because with love is made warmth is made energy is made light, and then there were two golden birds that flew away. 

And to this day no one knows where they are, because there is nothing more sacred to the Fair Folk than a secret, and there is nothing more sacred to a bird than its freedom

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to so much hozier and hayley kiyoko writing this. appreciate my lesbians pls


End file.
